BLOOMING
I went for my daily walk this morning.
It was sooooooooo HOT.
I can not stress this enough. HOT. HOT!
I waited too long into the morning to go, but I drug my butt out there because, well, my butt is the size of Cleveland. It needs the walk.
I went to my favorite walking spot, realizing that I would probably be out there by myself. Just me and nature. And the HOT.
Not sure why this happens -- maybe it's because I am a captive audience, but profound stuff occurs to me when I am by myself in nature.
There is this spot on the track (a soft, cement-like track that goes around a pasture and the edge of a forested area), where a crack has formed, and a clump of crab grass has grown into a lush, bushy mess. Right there in the middle of the track, there's this grass! It has always struck me as ironic (I like literary irony), and I've been meaning to point it out to my walking buddy. Only, she isn't in town currently.
So, there I was, sweating buckets around the mostly exposed walking trail, and there was that ding dang clump of grass.
You know that clichéd phrase: BLOOM WHERE YOU'RE PLANTED? Yeah, well, that floated into my head the first go-around on the walking trail.
BLOOM WHERE YOU'RE PLANTED. This clump of crab grass certainly took advantage of that opportunity!
And then it hit me...amongst the wilty weeds (you know an area needs rain badly when even the weeds are wilting), blue skies, and blessedly stiff breezes, that I've been blooming where I was planted.
Listen, it hasn't always been easy. When I look back at the almost nine years (NINE. YEARS. Where does the time go???) I've been a Kentuckian, there have been plenty of times where I would have liked to have thrown in the towel. I never did, though, because I knew this is where I was suppose to be blooming.
There were plenty of times that I looked like those wilty weeds, just limping along, waiting for a good downpour to quench me. I bloomed though.
I landed here in the Bluegrass when I was 34 years old. Sheesh! That seems a lifetime away from my current 43 years. So much wisdom has been garnered since then. So many life lessons have been learned (or not) since then. So many seasons under my belt since then. So many mistakes have been made, and so many celebrations have been had.
If it weren't for my blooming, I wouldn't have this rugged beauty before me ... I wouldn't have had the experiences offered to me ... I wouldn't have these beautiful people I call my Kentucky family.
Blooming where I've grown has allowed me to weave a tapestry of colors that are both complex and beautiful.
It may be a cliché, but BLOOMING WHERE YOU GROW is a challenging thing ... a hard thing ... but an oh-so rewarding thing.
It was sooooooooo HOT.
I can not stress this enough. HOT. HOT!
I waited too long into the morning to go, but I drug my butt out there because, well, my butt is the size of Cleveland. It needs the walk.
I went to my favorite walking spot, realizing that I would probably be out there by myself. Just me and nature. And the HOT.
Not sure why this happens -- maybe it's because I am a captive audience, but profound stuff occurs to me when I am by myself in nature.
There is this spot on the track (a soft, cement-like track that goes around a pasture and the edge of a forested area), where a crack has formed, and a clump of crab grass has grown into a lush, bushy mess. Right there in the middle of the track, there's this grass! It has always struck me as ironic (I like literary irony), and I've been meaning to point it out to my walking buddy. Only, she isn't in town currently.
So, there I was, sweating buckets around the mostly exposed walking trail, and there was that ding dang clump of grass.
You know that clichéd phrase: BLOOM WHERE YOU'RE PLANTED? Yeah, well, that floated into my head the first go-around on the walking trail.
BLOOM WHERE YOU'RE PLANTED. This clump of crab grass certainly took advantage of that opportunity!
And then it hit me...amongst the wilty weeds (you know an area needs rain badly when even the weeds are wilting), blue skies, and blessedly stiff breezes, that I've been blooming where I was planted.
Listen, it hasn't always been easy. When I look back at the almost nine years (NINE. YEARS. Where does the time go???) I've been a Kentuckian, there have been plenty of times where I would have liked to have thrown in the towel. I never did, though, because I knew this is where I was suppose to be blooming.
There were plenty of times that I looked like those wilty weeds, just limping along, waiting for a good downpour to quench me. I bloomed though.
I landed here in the Bluegrass when I was 34 years old. Sheesh! That seems a lifetime away from my current 43 years. So much wisdom has been garnered since then. So many life lessons have been learned (or not) since then. So many seasons under my belt since then. So many mistakes have been made, and so many celebrations have been had.
If it weren't for my blooming, I wouldn't have this rugged beauty before me ... I wouldn't have had the experiences offered to me ... I wouldn't have these beautiful people I call my Kentucky family.
Blooming where I've grown has allowed me to weave a tapestry of colors that are both complex and beautiful.
It may be a cliché, but BLOOMING WHERE YOU GROW is a challenging thing ... a hard thing ... but an oh-so rewarding thing.
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